“Nicholson and Mike Sutton weren’t friends, you could sure say that much. Listen, the Argosy ain’t the biggest, most profitable outfit around here. The Homestake and the Father De Smet are both bigger. But the Argosy’s right there behind ’em, and the Golden Queen ain’t much farther back.”
Bo nodded slowly. “So if Nicholson was able to buy the Golden Queen,
Scratch said, “Bo, you been actin’ like you think Nicholson might be tied in somehow with those road agents. That don’t make any sense when you consider what happened yesterday.”
“Yeah,” Chloride agreed. “Mitch Davis, Berkner, and Turley all wound up dead, and I come mighty close to it. And all four of us worked for the Argosy.”
“I know. The question is, would Nicholson be willing to let some of his men be killed if it helped him get what he wanted?”
“You mean the Golden Queen?” Scratch frowned. “I don’t see it. The Devils have held up shipments from every mine in the area, plus they robbed some stagecoaches, too, didn’t they, Chloride?”
The old-timer nodded. “Yep. Fact is, they hit two or three coaches on the run from here to Cheyenne before they ever held up any gold shipments. They took the express box ever’ time and killed the driver and shotgun guard.”
“What about the passengers?” Bo asked.
Chloride shook his head. “There weren’t any on those particular runs, which is mighty lucky for them ’cause any passengers likely would’ve been slaughtered, too.”
“When the bodies of the dead drivers and guards were found, did they have the pitchforks cut into their foreheads?”
“Yeah, sure. I seen some of the bodies when John Tadrack brought ’em in. Grisly work, I’m tellin’ you.”
“Bein’ an undertaker, or mutilatin’ poor hombres once you’ve killed ’em?” Scratch asked.
“Both, as far as I’m concerned.” With a slurp, Chloride drained the last of his coffee from the cup. “I reckon the gang decided they could make more money by hittin’ the gold shipments, because the stagecoach robberies stopped after the other holdups started.”
Bo nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure gold shipments are more profitable. But we’ll see if we can put a stop to that.”
They put on their hats and went over to the counter, where Bo took some coins from his pocket and paid Sue Beth for their meals. Scratch told her, “The food was mighty good, ma’am. We’ll be back, whenever we’re in town.”
“Oh? You’re leaving?” she asked.
“We’ve taken jobs out at the Golden Queen mine,” Bo said. “Chloride’s going to drive the gold wagon, and Scratch and I are going to guard the shipments.”
Sue Beth’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious! With the Deadwood Devils still on a rampage, you . . . you’ll be risking your lives!”
“Somebody’s got to do it. I figure the three of us are just the hombres to stand up to the Devils.”
Sue Beth had already put the money Bo had paid her into the cash box under the counter. She opened it now, reached in, and took the coins out again. She slid them back across the counter and said, “Here. Take your money.”
Bo frowned. “That paid for our food. Why are you trying to give it back?”
“Because I’m not going to charge men for what might be their last meals on this earth!”
CHAPTER 9
That night in Chloride’s shack passed as quietly as the previous one. Early the next morning, they drank the last of the old-timer’s coffee, then saddled up and rode down the gulch into Deadwood.
Bo still had enough money in his pocket to buy them breakfast at the Red Top, but after Sue Beth’s disapproval of their plans the night before, he didn’t know if they would be welcome there. Instead they stopped at the Empire Bakery on Lee Street, just across the bridge over Whitewood Creek, and bought a sack of bear sign to eat as they rode out to the Golden Queen Mine.
Despite the early hour, Martha Sutton was already in the mining company’s office, and she had the letter she had mentioned the day before ready for them.
“My superintendent’s name is Andrew Keefer,” she told Bo as she handed him the folded and sealed paper. “Mr. Coleman probably knows him.”
Chloride nodded. “By reputation, anyway. I don’t reckon I’ve ever shook and howdied with him. Heard tell he’s a tough hombre, but I never heard anybody say he wasn’t a fair one.”
“That’s a good description of him,” Martha said. “I’d add loyal, too. He worked for my father for several years, and after . . . after things got bad, he could have gone to work for the Homestake or one of the other big mines. But he hasn’t. He’s stayed right there at the Golden Queen and done everything in his power to keep it running, even though I owe him as many back wages as I do anyone. You shouldn’t have any trouble with him, especially after he reads the letter.”
Bo knew that when Martha talked about things getting bad, she really meant after her father had died. He stowed the letter in an inside coat pocket and asked, “How soon will we need to bring in a shipment?”
“There’s probably already enough ore on hand to fill a wagon right now.”
“Then we’ll be back with it tomorrow, I reckon,” Bo said with a smile.
